Although I’ve considered wearing cute shoes, I’m sure I’ll end up in my Danskos.
This is how you’ll know me at the airport: my yellow pants, my Danskos.
Also, I am short, and middle-aged, with brown and green glasses. You’ll notice
I’ve not perfected the art of scarf-wearing, but I know how to wear Danskos:
With boot cut pants and “interesting” socks. Or with skirts (matching tights).
Don’t worry — I know better than to wear skinny jeans with Danskos.
I’ll meet you at Ground Transportation, at the hotel shuttle pickup, and if
I’m too short to be seen in the crowd, look down at the floor for Danskos.
They’ll be black. I hope you’ll realize the sacrifice I’m making here. Cordovan
with bleach stains and scuffed toes are my most comfortable Danskos.
My luggage is so big because I had to pack my fleece bathrobe, two sets of pj’s,
my slippers, a small tea pot, a flameless candle, and more than one pair of Danskos.
What can I say? The book fair alone makes the case for abandoning
the red ballet flats and the gray boots in favor of my Danskos,
and I’m high-maintenance when it comes to creature comforts.
And cups of tea. And naps. And early bedtimes. And, well, Danskos.
If at any time during the conference I disappear, I suggest searching
in the Dickinson Quiet Space, where I’ll probably have kicked off my Danskos.
You may find me rather bland as roommates go. Not much of a party girl,
mediocre fashion sense. Hi, I’m Molly Spencer, devotee of poetry and Danskos.